The Wabasso Triangle
Sweet Home Indiana
It should not have happened, but one thing is certain: it did happen. Defying all known Laws of Physics, as well as construction zone flags and pleading NPR stations, the Wabasso Triangle has struck again.
Brought to you by Anthony Chianti, Licensed Private Eye and Indian River Community Pasta Detective – Motto: It Takes a Village to Raise an Idiot.
It was Thursday and, for once, I woke up early. I flung open the bedroom window, took a deep breath of fresh air and climbed in.
After a cold shower, I bounced into the bathroom, grabbed a rough towel, scrubbed my face vigorously and peered in the mirror. There, spread across my forehead, was a world champion booger. I should have known it was going to be one of those days...
At least there was the intense pressure of running a Pasta Detective Agency to take my mind off everything. And after last month's little adventure, it felt good to be back at work and in the thick of things, which is much harder than it sounds if you happen to be born in the Chinese Year of the Sloth…
Anyways, there wasn't much happening at the office, and it was going on 9.30, high time to make an early start on lunch. Plus, I was long overdue for another tax-deductible expense-item ticket from the Shy Knees Lester Want.
“Ah-ha, Misser Chianti, you again? How nice – we welcome you to re-opening of new redecolated Amish Lester Want.”
“Oh – Hi… er, gimme a number eleven with the fried rice... “
“No flyed lice, but you can have number ereven with sauerkraut... "
I looked up from the crossword, "What did you say?"
“You can have number ereven, but this is new menu. Sauerkraut... "
“No, before that, what did you say before?"
“You mean, welcome? Welcome to new Amish Lester Want?” He handed me the menu.”
“Amish? AMISH? What happened to Chinese?”
“Oh – we change with times – Amish is latest fashion... "
“Huh? What’s this Lancaster Chicken Wing Ping?”
“Famous spicy Rancaster Chicken Wings – you like velly much!”
“And what about the “Ping”?”
“Oh, Ping mean microwave finish.”
"But – why Amish food?”
“Yes, OK, now dot-com bubble has burst we follow latest trend – austerity cuisine – said so in Catering Weekly. Anyway, you like nummer forty-two – Sin Lo Sweet Haricots… ”
“Forty-Two? This item… “Bruder Graber's Beans”…?”
“Same thing, we only change name. Taste zactly same.”
“Okay, give me a number forty-two and a number eleven, followed by the Appomattox Pudding, whatever that is...
“Sure, nummer ereven, Hanover Stew with Raw Potato Sausage, Sauerkraut and Bruder Graber's Beans forrowed by Appomattox pudding… “
“Just get me something to eat… “ I shouted after him.
This could be a disaster – if they don't sell noodles anymore that could mean the end of expense account lunches...
“OK, coming light up, food here before game start, Monday night is football night...“
“Good, but it’s Thursday morning… “
“Oh? Maybe Thursday morning is football night, too.”
“Okay, so who's playing?”
“Tonight's game is Romania versus Namibia – exciting Rugby World Cup... "
I sipped the soup and sampled the sausage. Raw potato sausage – life couldn't get much wurst. I can smell a rat from a mile off, and even with matzos this place wasn't kosher. Something was wrong somewhere, and for once it wasn’t the High Priest of Halitosis, Detective Inspector “Raving” Ravioli of the Serious Pasta Crimes Squad, exhaling in the same zip code.
After a couple of inedible bites, I’d tasted enough – it was time to get to the bottom of this funny business – being a pasta detective is a 24/7 commitment, not counting mealtimes.
I drove out the parking lot and straight back in the other end of the plaza, pulling up between that fancy French hairdressers, Maison Dixonline, and Ma Shred’s Grapefruit Outlet. From there it was only a short tippy-toe to the back of the Shy Knees Lester Want.
Crouching behind their dumpster afforded me a good view of the restaurant loading bay. For a start, there were dozens of black buggies with orange triangles on the back… orange triangles spinning around… and around…
Some time later, I slowly opened one eye, wondering what all the noise was…
“ …and you flink you self rucky my Vulcan Death Gwip was only set stun… “
Years of Pasta Detective training paid off as I soon realized my captor was not really a diminutive 17-Century pastor but a Chinaman wearing a false beard. It was Sum Ding Wong, my old arch-enemy, and looking as venomous as ever. Time can be a great healer, but a spiteful beautician…
“Ah so, Misser Chianti, you are even more ugrier than I remember. But this time you snoop your last snoopy-snoop… “
“Okay, but at four feet ten you’re not fooling anybody, and why that ridiculous beard?"
“Misser Chianti, soon you die, so now I tell you the lest of the story… Our persecuted brothers in the Amish Libelation Front, they decide that the only advantage the lest of society has over the Amish is erectricity. If no erectricity then everyone is equal. But no one in Amish understand erectricity so they hire famous Indian Liver Triad to sabotage… “
“You mean... ?"
“Yes, as we speak, in the first stage of our operation, 2000 potato trucks driven by Chinese wearing black hats and false beards head for Colorado Liver. We empty potatoes in river and block up the Hoover Dam. With no erectricity, then America cannot watch Jelly Splinger and society will crumble. After levolution, we give Indiana and Pennsylvania to the Amish and Indian Liver Triad gets the lest of the country… “
“Your fiendish plan will never work!” I struggled to free myself as they bundled me into the back of a buggy.
“You will be first one in the Colorado Liver, Chianti!” Sum Ding Wong shouted after me as a long caravan of buggies headed north.
“Where are we going and why am I in this hand basket?” I said to myself.
After several backbreaking hours of buggy bouncing we came to a halt as searchlights and flashing blue lights lit up the interior. This can mean only one thing: The Wabasso Triangle has struck again.
“You’re surrounded – come out with your hands up!” A familiar voice grated through the megaphone.
The buggy door swung open and I was thrown on the ground and kicked mercilessly.
“I arrest you for being a member of a listed terrorist organization, to wit, PWP!” He shouted unnecessarily through the megaphone.
“Parents Without Partners are terrorists?” I know some divorcees can be pretty aggressive but I had no idea the situation was that bad. I craned my head up.
“No, silly, Patriots With Potatoes – the radical breakaway wing of the Amish Liberation Front is… Chianti, it's you! What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, Ravioli. I was undercover, out there busting terrorists until you ruined the whole sting.“
Well, amazing but true, and it can only have happened here. That’s about it for this month’s update from the Wabasso Triangle.
Anthony Chianti, Indian River Community Pasta Detective, signing off.
Bed 72, Kissimmee General Hospital.
© 2004 Pastarology